


The Apocalypse Waltz

by tender_is_the_ghost



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Waltzing, Wedding Planning, dance lessons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-12 19:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7946212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tender_is_the_ghost/pseuds/tender_is_the_ghost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An impending wedding sends Daryl into a minor panic and pushes him to try something he's never done before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Apocalypse Waltz

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlannasTara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlannasTara/gifts).



 

Daryl hesitates before stepping out of the shadows and approaching the brightly-lit porch, his ears tuning into the night sounds around him, listening for any sign that he’s not the only one there. The warm night breeze wraps around him, bringing the incessant chirp of cicadas to his ears along with the distant groan of a solitary walker on the other side of the fence. Other than that, there’s silence – the majority of Alexandria’s residents already safely tucked away behind their locked doors – and he breathes out a sigh of relief, eager to remain undetected on his mission. Swiftly, he crosses the remaining distance to the wide wraparound porch and mounts the steps to the front door two at a time. Now that he’s exposed to anyone that might just happen to walk by, he feels a frisson of nerves jangling up and down his spine and he almost turns tail to run from what he’s sure is the most asinine idea he’s ever had when the door is abruptly yanked open and he finds himself looking down the barrel of a raised shotgun.

“Daryl?” Spencer asks in confusion, lowering the weapon and staring quizzically at the man standing on his front porch looking like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

“I know your secret,” Daryl blurts out before he can stop himself and he sees the younger man’s brows knit together.

“Then I guess you better come in,” Spencer tells him slowly, his eyes flicking to the six-pack of beer Daryl has clutched in one fist, tiny beads of condensation trickling down their shiny sides.

Giving a tight nod but not meeting his eyes, Daryl brusquely pushes past him as Spencer closes the door, his mind racing a mile a minute trying to figure out which secret Daryl is referring to and wondering where in the hell he’d managed to score cold beers from.

Without waiting for Spencer to follow him, Daryl heads through to the opulent living room of the Monroe family home and immediately sets about closing all the blinds. Once he’s satisfied they have total privacy, he turns back to find Spencer staring at him from the doorway, a mixed look of amusement and apprehension on his face.

“What’s this all about?” Spencer asks, thinking this may be the longest conversation he’s ever had with the surly archer and, he has to admit, he’s curious as to what could have brought him to Spencer’s door in the first place.

Daryl shuffles his feet, glancing around the room for something other than Spencer to focus on, beginning to wish he’d thought this through a little more rather than just following any half-assed idea that popped into his dumb head.

“Was patrollin’ out here coupla nights ago… saw you n’ Rosita through the windows…” Daryl says quietly, staring at the ugly patterned rug beneath his feet that he’s sure would’ve cost more money than his whole house.

“Ohhh-kay,” Spencer answers, his brow furrowing again and still not sure where this conversation is headed. “Well… we’re consenting adults, you know, and what we do is really none of your business.”

“Weren’t peepin’ on ya,” Daryl spits out, his head snapping up to finally look Spencer dead in the eye and he can feel the heat of embarrassment crawling up his neck and onto his cheeks which just sparks his temper a little. “I ain’t no perv.”

Spencer keeps quiet but raises his palms in a placating gesture, thinking that the last thing he wants to do is piss off the man he knows is more than capable of snapping his 6’4” frame without even breaking a sweat.

“You were dancin’… that fancy waltzin’ or some shit… twirlin’ her. Got me thinkin’,” Daryl mutters, rubbing a nervous hand over his scraggly beard.

“About?” Spencer asks, wondering if Daryl's ever going to get to a point or if this is some new kind of torture technique he’s randomly decided to try out on Spencer where he mumbles at his victim long enough to put them into a daze before he kills them.

“Rick n’ ‘chonne’re gettin’ married in a couple weeks,” Daryl offers as though this is the answer to everything and Spencer starts to get an inkling as to what the other man wants from him and he relaxes a little.

“Ahh, so you want to dance with Rick at his wedding,” he replies, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe.

“No, dude… Michonne,” Daryl splutters, glaring at Spencer but Spencer can’t help but notice the color on his cheeks deepens even more.

“Oh… my bad,” Spencer smiles, unfolding his arms to raise his palms once more, “I’ve seen the way you look at him…”

“Fuck off,” Daryl growls, his hands clenching briefly into tight fists against his thighs. “Rick's like my brother, man.”

“Sure he is,” Spencer says knowingly with a nod of his head, noting that Daryl didn’t exactly deny his accusation but he changes the subject anyway. “So… you’ve never danced with a girl before?”

“Man, look at me… do I look like I spent my time at the high school dance?”

“Fair enough,” Spencer shrugs, feeling the initial tenseness that had filled the room dissipating a little the more they talk. “So what do you want from me.”

“I want you to show me some of those fancy moves you got,” Daryl says quietly, feeling grateful that Spencer’s not laughing in his face at least but still convinced that he’s embarrassing himself for nothing. “Think ya can do that or am I wastin’ my time?”

Spencer takes a moment to look at Daryl, to really study him beneath the gruff exterior and layers of self-defense he’s built up to protect himself with. What he sees is a man who wants to do the right thing and who’s willing to reach out a hand for help even when it goes against everything he was probably raised to believe and Spencer admires that in him. His interactions with the archer had been limited up to this point, in fact he was kind of surprised that Daryl even knew he existed – he was so close-knit with his own group that he had barely acknowledged the rest of the Alexandrians – but he was more than willing to get to know him a little better.

“What’s in it for me?” Spencer asks boldly, stepping fully into the room and snagging the beer cans from Daryl's hand to tear one free and pop the ring on it. “Apart from you bringing me this, of course.”

Daryl eyes him warily, ripping free his own can and sitting the rest down on the expensive oak coffee table, knowing that he barely trusts the guy yet but painfully aware that he needs him if he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of the rest of the group. To say he’s overjoyed at the upcoming nuptials of two of his closest friends is an understatement but, naturally, he’s enthusiastic in the way only he can be which has involved lots of manly back slaps for Rick and even a single hug for Michonne followed by him staying as far away as possible from any and all preparations for the impending wedding. When Rick had asked him to be his best man, Daryl had thought his heart might burst and had agreed without giving one thought to what that honor might entail. He had been comfortable enough with planning Rick's bachelor party but when Aaron had pointed out that his duties extended far beyond that, Daryl had realized that he was going to be on display alongside the bride and groom on their big day and had spiraled into an internal panic about not embarrassing either them or himself. Aaron had intuitively seen what was going on with him and had been secretly steering him in the right direction to get everything taken care of but Daryl had gotten the idea of dancing with Michonne in his head and hadn’t been able to shift it, even though Aaron had assured him that it wasn’t something that he was required to do as best man. Discovering that Spencer knew the type of dancing Daryl had always associated with weddings and knowing that his moves were strictly limited to shuffling his feet while he grinded his hips on some piece of tail in a darkened, smoky bar while he was drunk off his head had seemed like the Fates of the New World were smiling on him for once. He also knew that whatever Spencer’s price was, he was going to pay it just to be able to see the look of surprise on his family’s faces when he took the bride onto the dancefloor.

“What d’ya want?” he asks, crushing the now empty beer can in his fist and scowling again so as not to reveal his desperation.

“Well…” Spencer answers thoughtfully, plucking the empty can out of Daryl's hand before he can toss it over his shoulder like Spencer thinks he's about to do and setting it on the table next to his before he grabs another beer, “for a start, I’m going to have another of these and then…”

“Then?”

“Then I’ll teach you some basics in return for you teaching me how to use that crossbow of yours,” Spencer informs him, smirking as he sees Daryl's fingers close protectively around the strap to the bow that’s slung over his shoulder.

Daryl snorts a little, eyeing Spencer over the top of his beer can as he takes a long draw of the cool, tangy liquid and then wipes the back of his hand across his lips.

“Sure… if you think you can handle it,” he agrees, a slightly mocking tone in his voice.

“Oh, I think you’ll be surprised at what I can handle,” Spencer tells him, just a little irritated at the implication Daryl's making – tired of everyone thinking he’s nothing more than a trust fund baby that needs to be carried through the dangers of the New World. “So… we have a deal.”

“Deal,” Daryl grunts, downing the last of his beer in one swallow and shoving out a hand which Spencer takes immediately and shakes tightly.

“Okay… we need to make some space in here,” Spencer directs, setting down his empty beer can next to the others and rubbing his hands together.

They spend the next few minutes working together to push back the heavy furniture from the center of the room and roll up the dusty rug to reveal the polished floor beneath, both of them grunting heavily and working up a sweat until they’re done. With a suitable area freed up, Spencer rifles through the CDs on the shelf by the player until he finds what he’s looking for while Daryl finds a safe resting spot for his crossbow where it’s still easily accessible should he need it.

When the soft strains of a classic waltz flow from the surround system, filling the warmly-lit room with music, Daryl flinches a little, suddenly feeling more nervous than a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. The good buzz he had going from the beers he’d drunk is rapidly burning away as he starts to sweat profusely, his palms wet against the worn material of his pants as Spencer crosses the room to join him.

“We’re going to start off slow, okay?” Spencer says, trying to calm some of the nervousness he can feel pouring off of Daryl. “It’s a really basic move and we’ll walk it first… just follow my lead.”

When Daryl nods, Spencer steps up into his personal space, his hands reaching out to take Daryl's but, as soon as their skin touches, Daryl back-pedals away from him, landing on his ass on the sofa at the edge of the space.

“Bro… you do know you’re going to have to touch her if you want to dance with her, right?” Spencer quizzes him, doing his best not to smirk at the other man’s stricken face.

“Yeah, yeah,” Daryl grouches, slapping away the hand Spencer offers to pull him up with. “You just took me by surprise is all.”

“Sorry.”

“Where’d you learn this shit anyway?” Daryl asks, trying to deflect some of the attention off of him as he comes to stand in front of Spencer again.

“My mom made us take lessons, Aiden and me,” Spencer confesses, stiffening a little at the all-too-recent loss of his mother.

“Only thing my mom ever made me learn was how to make her a grilled cheese sandwich so she wouldn’t have to get her drunken ass off the sofa when her soaps were on,” Daryl tells him, mentally kicking himself for the brief look of anguish that had crossed Spencer’s face at the mention of his family.

There’s a moment of embarrassed silence and then they both laugh and a little more of the tension in the room evaporates. This time, when Spencer raises his hands, Daryl lets him take hold of his own and rest his other at Daryl's waist, adjusting their stance until he’s satisfied. After a brief explanation of the basic move they’re going to make, Spencer counts out the time along with the music and slowly starts moving Daryl around the room, smiling to himself at the way his partner’s eyes are fixed firmly on his feet, his hair hanging forward to obscure his face. After a few false steps, he’s actually surprised at how fast Daryl finds his rhythm, guessing it must have something to do with the natural agility he has when he’s hunting prey and they move around the room at a steady pace.

“Fuck!” Spencer cusses loudly, a sudden realization dawning on him and Daryl springs away from him like he’s been burned.

“What did I do?” he asks worriedly, convinced he’s made some huge mistake that’s going to put an end to this hare-brained scheme before it’s hardly begun.

“Nothing,” Spencer placates him, a sheepish look on his face. “I just realized that I’m leading.”

“Wait…” Daryl says, the scowl returning to his face as he digests Spencer’s words, “you’re teachin’ me the girl part?”

“Well, technically, there’s a leader and a follower so it’s not always necessarily a girl tha-”

“It’s the fuckin’ girl part,” Daryl almost yells, pacing angrily away from Spencer and wondering what Rick will say if he just punches the guy.

“Dude, I don’t have to do this you know,” Spencer points out, raising his own voice a little and folding his arms over his chest. “I could be over at Rosita’s place right now, getting me some tacos, if you know what I mean.”

Daryl turns to glare at him, his desire just to give the whole thing up being pushed aside as a mental image of Michonne’s smiling face pops into his head quickly followed by one of Rick slapping him on the back and telling him he’s proud of him. With a noise somewhere between a grunt and a sigh issuing from his mouth, Daryl squares off again in front of Spencer and holds out his arms. With just a tiny hesitation, Spencer takes them, readjusting their previous positions and they begin again, this time with Daryl making the first move. It’s a disaster from the start, Daryl now feeling completely self-conscious and fumbling every step until he’s sweating like a whore in church and Spencer is wearing a pained expression from the amount of times Daryl has trodden on his toes.

“Fuck it, man, I can’t do this,” Daryl growls in frustration, dropping his hands from Spencer’s and stepping back.

“You just need to loosen up a little is all,” Spencer suggests, feeling a little guilty for setting their lesson off on the wrong foot, so to speak. “Maybe try taking off the 100lbs of dead cow you’re wearing for a start.”

Daryl freezes, giving Spencer one of his patented glares that’s actually starting to not scare him anymore, and then stalks over to shrug out of his leather jacket and hang it carefully on the back of one of the dining room chairs. Spencer tries and fails not to crack up at the reverent way Daryl handles the jacket despite all the mud, blood and who knows what else that’s caked on almost every part of it.

“What?” Daryl snaps, whipping his head back around to look at Spencer.

“Nothing… you want another beer?” Spencer asks, his mouth suddenly dry as his eyes roam the tanned expanse of Daryl's arms revealed by the removal of his jacket and the torn-off shirt that he’s wearing underneath.

He takes Daryl's shoulder shrug as a yes and grabs the remaining two beers from the table before tossing one to the archer who snatches it deftly out of the air and pops the tab to take a long swallow. Spencer finds himself momentarily mesmerized by the way Daryl's Adam’s apple bobs as he tips his head back to drink the beer, looking swiftly away when Daryl catches him staring. To distract himself from the unholy thoughts that are suddenly rampaging through his mind, Spencer goes over to the CD player to restart the disc while he downs his own beer. Although he was having fun with Rosita, Spencer wasn’t naïve, he knew that he was the rebound guy, somebody she could use to throw in Abraham’s face after their break-up and he certainly wasn’t going to let that stop him having fun with anybody else should the opportunity arise. Not that he thought for a second that Daryl would lower his guard enough to confirm what Spencer suspected he already knew about his sexuality based on the longing looks he’d witnessed the archer throwing at Rick when he thought nobody was watching. As for himself, Spencer wasn’t exactly advertising his preferences either – it’s not like the subject came up in general conversation – but he had been open about it with Rosita and she hadn’t found it to be an issue so he was more than happy to spend his nights with such a beautiful woman. That didn’t mean they were exclusive in any sense of the word and both of them had acknowledged their relationship for exactly what it was, which is why he felt no guilt now about the lustful thoughts he was having towards his impromptu dance partner.

“You ever ride a horse?” he asks abruptly, a thought just occurring to him and Daryl gives him a withering stare that conveys exactly how much of an idiot he thinks Spencer is. “Okay… so dancing is like riding a horse.”

“How so?” Daryl asks, wondering what in the hell this damn fool boy is talking about now and wishing he had another beer as he crumples the can and tosses it at the table with the others.

“Well,” replies Spencer, setting down his own beer and moving back to the center of the room to resume their dance positions, nodding to Daryl to take the lead which he does, “you know how an inexperienced rider thinks that you can steer a horse just by pulling the reins in whatever direction you want to go? Well dancing is the same. As the lead, it’s your job to steer your partner in the direction they need to go, to give them the confidence that you won’t guide them wrong even if you’re moving them backwards. And, as any experienced rider will tell you, you ride with your whole body, making yourself an extension of the horse until both of you are so in sync that it can read the slightest motion you make with either your thighs or your fingers and know exactly where you want it to go. Dancing is the same – you have to let your body tell your partner its intentions, small hand squeezes for the direction you’re going to turn, the way you distribute your weight before a step – a good lead can convey all of that with the minimum of effort. See?”

Daryl starts a little, realizing that while he’s been listening to Spencer talk, he’s taken the lead and they have been successfully traversing the floor with no missed steps or squashed toes. He keeps his breathing even, a technique he’s learned over the years to calm his body while he’s hunting, and tries not to focus on what he’s doing, instead letting his body take over as Spencer had suggested. Although he would never admit it out loud, there’s actually something quite relaxing about the ordered steps of the dance and he’s even finding the accompanying music to be quite soothing in its repetition. He finds himself becoming more in tune with not only his own body but Spencer’s as well, surprised at the way they can already move so well together – a fact that he had thought impossible at the beginning of the evening and something that he’s not altogether hating.

“For Pete’s sake, Daryl, stop looking at your feet,” Spencer admonishes him as Daryl nearly steers him into the dining table.

“How’m I s’posed to see what I’m doin’?” Daryl grumbles but he raises his head and flicks his hair back from his face nonetheless.

“You don’t need to see… not like that anyway. Your focus is supposed to be on your partner, your feet will know what to do, trust me.”

With a tiny, disgruntled snort, Daryl attempts what Spencer is telling him, keeping his eyes focused on the taller man’s face while he counts out the steps in his mind, working to move Spencer around with just the lightest of touches. After a few more stepped-on toes – Spencer gritting his teeth but saying nothing – Daryl finally thinks he’s getting it and he even finds himself smiling a little as they move slowly around the floor. Without noticing it at first, he finds that he’s staring into the deep brown depths of Spencer’s eyes, noting the long lashes that frame them, and his gaze trails down over the chiseled contours of his face, his chin covered in a few day’s growth of stubble that just accentuates the hollows of his cheeks until Daryl's eyes rest upon his lips. Unconsciously he licks his own, feelings stirring in him that he hasn’t let free in some time, what with the whole end of the world taking up most of his time these days. As he realizes what he’s doing, he falters in mid-step, a cold sweat breaking out on his palms where they’re pressed against the firmness of Spencer’s waist and the hand he has clasped around Daryl's. Before he can recover himself, he’s stomped hard on the top of Spencer’s foot and this time the other man yowls with pain, stepping back from Daryl and lifting his leg to hop on one foot.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Daryl… are you trying to break my foot?”

I’m sorry, man… it was an accident,” Daryl tells him, feeling simultaneously mortified and guilty, knowing that his wandering mind was at fault here.

Eager to make things right, he steps in to help Spencer over to the sofa with the intention of examining him for broken bones, just as Spencer bends to check out his foot for himself and the two of them clash in the middle. Daryl grabs at Spencer just in time to stop him from pitching to the floor and they stand, clinging to one another, neither one daring to move for fear of exacerbating their situation.

Spencer can feel the heat of Daryl's skin through the thin material of his shirt where he has one hand balled in the front of it and he can smell the archer’s scent, a deep musky odor that reminds him of the woods on a summer’s day and he feels his pulse start to quicken. Daryl's hands are wrapped at Spencer’s waist, one sliding lower to grip at his hip and, as Spencer looks down, Daryl meets his eyes and there’s no other thought in Spencer’s mind than wanting to kiss him right there and then. He brings his free hand up to brush Daryl's unruly hair back from his face, wondering fleetingly what it would feel like to have it wrapped around his fist while they were fucking, and he feels Daryl’s body stiffen under his touch.

Daryl's breath catches in his throat at Spencer’s touch, his immediate instinct leaning towards fight or flight but something in the other man’s eyes has him pinned in place, his body craving the intimacy of that caress despite his brain’s ingrained insistence that it’s wrong. There’s a hundred thoughts running through his mind but all of them are gone in the blink of an eye as Spencer tightens the grip he has on the front of Daryl's shirt to keep him locked in place as he slides his other hand to the back of his neck and leans in to kiss him.

There’s a fraction of a second’s pause before Spencer presses his lips to Daryl's, part of him still anticipating the punch that he's sure is coming his way and the rest of him not caring if it does. But, as his mouth presses firmly against the warmth of Daryl's lips, there’s nothing but the feel of his hands tightening on his waist, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on Spencer’s jeans as a tiny mewling sound emanates from Daryl's throat. Encouraged, Spencer darts out his tongue, flicking it across Daryl's lips, desperate to go deeper and he’s not disappointed when Daryl responds in kind, opening his mouth to press the wet heat of his tongue against Spencer’s.

The hand at the back of Daryl's neck moves up to tangle in his hair, pulling slightly on it and he wants nothing more than to whine loudly at the sheer pleasure he's feeling but somehow he keeps it damped down inside, not quite ready to reveal just how much he wants this. He does, however, pull Spencer closer as their kiss intensifies, grinding his hips against him and feeling Spencer’s jerk against him in response. Their tongues are fighting for dominance, Daryl licking and sucking with a passion that surprises even him, his skin heating up as Spencer’s hands start roaming his body, pushing up under his shirt to rub roughly over his skin. Daryl's brain is misfiring on so many levels he can barely form a coherent thought but, when Spencer’s hand brushes over his burgeoning hard-on, everything suddenly snaps back into focus and he feels an overwhelming panic come over him.

With a primal grunt, Daryl tears himself away from Spencer, leaving him standing there gasping as he tries to wrap his head around what’s happening, his body already in a high state of arousal. He watches silently as Daryl grabs his jacket and his crossbow, hightailing it for the door without so much as a glance in Spencer’s direction and, with a shuddering sigh, Spencer flinches as he hears the back door slam against its frame. Shaking his head, he moves to turn off the CD player which is still churning out its cheerful tunes and then douses the light in the living room before heading through to lock the kitchen door. As he climbs the stairs up to his room, he feels an obvious sense of disappointment but he can’t say he’s really surprised at the sudden turn of events – he knew he was playing with fire from the outset. Slipping between his sheets, he reaches down to wrap a hand around his aching cock, running his tongue over his lips to capture the memory of the kiss they’d shared and, when he comes into his pumping fist it’s Daryl's face that swims in his mind.

Daryl's stands at the back of the Monroe house in the same spot he’d occupied at the start of the night, his mind in turmoil and his body still thrumming with a desire that both thrills him and scares the crap out of him. He hides in the safety of the darkness among the trees, waiting until the lights in Spencer’s house are all extinguished and the throbbing in his pants has faded miserably away before he turns and heads home.

The next day Spencer sees Daryl around the town but they don't speak which is exactly the way Spencer expected it to be and he files it away as an interesting experience but one that he never expects to be repeated. He’s certainly not going to push the situation, sure that Daryl is ready to forget the whole thing ever happened which is why he's surprised when, at 10pm just as he’s thinking about turning in for the night, there's a gentle tapping at his kitchen door and he opens it to find Daryl standing there.

“Can I come in?” Daryl asks gruffly, not meeting Spencer’s inquisitive gaze, wondering if the younger man can hear the rapid beat of his heart from where he’s standing.

 

“Why?”

 

“Thought you were teachin’ me to dance.”

 

“Oh, I figured maybe you were done with that,” Spencer tells him, raising an eyebrow in surprise and now Daryl does glance at him, a look in his eyes that Spencer can’t quite read.

 

“Did you teach me everythin’ you know?” he asks and Spencer can’t fail to notice the emphasis he’s putting into his words and the double meaning behind them.

 

“Not even close,” Spencer says, matching Daryl's tone and all its implications.

 

“Then we ain't done,” Daryl informs him, pushing roughly past him into the kitchen but Spencer smiles to himself as he feels the lingering brush of Daryl's fingers along his bare arm as he closes the door behind him.


End file.
